


Story Time

by SimplyCath



Category: GTA V
Genre: Gen, Mild Illness, bad language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 16:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17227700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplyCath/pseuds/SimplyCath
Summary: Tracey has a cold.  Michael's parenting skills are as rusty as they are unconventional.





	Story Time

**Author's Note:**

> TITLE: Sweet Tooth  
> AUTHOR: Simply Cath  
> DISTRIBUTION: Get my permission first.  
> DISCLAIMER: Don't own anyone or anything, not making any money.  
> RATING: PG  
> CONTENT: Illness, bad language, Michael's unconventional parenting.  
> SPOILERS: None

Story Time  
By: Writer Cath

Her phone buzzed pathetically, then went still. Tracey moaned in protest. She could have plugged it back in, but it was so much easier to put the pillow over her face instead. It was stupid hot out and she caught a damn cold. She should have been out on the beach, not curled up under every blanket she could muster.

Through the feathers and silk covering her face, she heard the front door open, then shut. She shut her eyes, trying to figure out how best to kill Jimmy if he tried to take a picture of her looking like this. "Bong poison." She said after a moment. He would definitely use it and there was almost no chance of accidentally killing Mom.

"You say something, sweetie?"

Tracey moved the pillow aside, willing her eyes to focus on the figure in the doorway. "Daddy?"

"Hey, kiddo, you don't look so hot."

Any number of replies came to mind, all that came out was a gross, wracking cough.

"Hey, hey, take it easy, all right?" Michael stepped into the room and guided her into a sitting position, making sure a pillow was behind her head. "I brought you some soup from that Chinese place."

"Not hungry," she muttered, scrubbing a hand over her eyes. "How'd you even-?"

"Your mother texted me." Michael looked around the room. "Tell you what, you eat a bit of that and I'll give you your other present."

"Present?" Tracey took the plastic spoon and her eyes widened a bit at the little sharp points on the ends and the smiling face on the outside of the spoon. "You got the kitty spoon? They only give those to little kids. How'd you even-?"

Michael looked off to the side, the way he always did when he wanted to avoid a question. "Well, when I told them it was for my little girl and she was sick... I mean, I had to persuade them a bit... Shit, you don't like it, do you? Lemme-"

With what little strength she had, Tracey snatched the spoon from him. She dunked the spoon into the broth and brought it to her lips. Initially expecting her stomach to rebel, the blonde was surprised by a surge of hunger. Michael sat down in the lone chair in the corner of the room, quietly fussing with his phone. Tracey coughed. She coughed again. She coughed until he looked up.

"You got me a present?"

"Just like your mother." Michael said fondly. He reached into the plastic bag that he'd dropped at his feet and held out a garishly colored pink magazine with the words LS Insider!!! on the cover.

Tracey snorted. "They still print magazines?" She looked over at her phone, the screen black. She huffed and held out her hand, making a point not to look at her poor unmanicured fingers. Within seconds, it was in her grasp. Tracey hadn't even heard him approach; it reminded her that he'd been really good at his old job. She opened it up, squinting at the small text. "Ugh, how do they even-?" Her head started to pound all over again.

"Here," Michael sat down on the edge of the bed. "Let me show you how it's done." He took the magazine from her slack fingers and Tracey fell back on to the bed, her eyes drifting shut.

"The hottest news of the week!" Michael licked his lips. "Jessalyquinessatro ... is that even a real name? Um, yeah, Jessa-whatever, was spotted leaving old boyfriend Kevin McKing's place in the middle of the night. Geeze, is this really news? Whatever. Could we be hearing wedding bells for the eighth time for JessKing? Fuck me, seven weddings. Right, okay, anyway... Man, there's not even any movie reviews? What the hell kinda rag is this? Ugh. Anyway. In fashion, pop sensation Drinkle - oh come on, they're not even trying anymore! - has electrified the red carpet... literally! Her ensemble cape/aquarium was full of electric eels when she suffered a wardrobe malfunction that left six people in the hospital. Next page, we are NOT reading about sex tips. Next page, we are NOT-"

"Daddy," Tracey groaned. "Please stop. I mean, thank you, but-"

"Hell, I guess I'm just not up on current events. Sorry, pumpkin. Wait, I got it. I'm a little rusty at this, but once upon a time-"

"You know I'm not six, right?"

"I SAID... once upon a time, there was a powerful warrior woman. She managed an ivory tower and had loads of people working for her."

Tracey opened her mouth to argue, but she fell quiet as her dad grew more animated. She laid back and closed her eyes. Every so often the bed would rock as he got more into it and she couldn't help a snort of laughter when he started doing voices for the villain and the hero and the side characters. Tracey coasted pleasantly, half listening, till Michael's voice rose up in excitement.

"And then, the warrior lady swung around with the briefcase and knocked the evil scientist off the building. She looked over the side and said-"

"'See you next fall.'" Tracey sat up, her eyes widening with realization. "Dad, that was the plot of Iron Angel II."

"III." He muttered, out of habit. "Two was about the weather machine and starred-"

She shook her head. "Oh my god." She jabbed a finger at his chest, her mouth falling open in shock. "The scruffy space fighter, the angry cab driver, the lost fish.... oh my god, they were all movies! All your bedtime stories!"

"Hey, some of those are classics of American cinema. You should count yourself lucky you got to experience them as a kid."

"You can't even do stories like a real dad!" 

As a kid, Tracey had seen her dad come home slathered in bandages, barely able to move and covered in blood that didn't belong to him. Her parents tried to hide it and if you had asked, she would have boasted that her Daddy never got hurt. He always had a smile. He'd always pick her up, even if it took him a few extra seconds.

Today, he flinched.

"I mean," she twisted her fingers in the sheets, trying to come up with words. Deep talks were not a De Santa family strength. "Like what the hell, why not tell me about Cinderella?"

"Didn't she used to work with your mom?"

Tracey glared. "Come on. Other kids get told fairy tales."

"You're not other kids." Michael said quickly. "You're my kid." He looked down at the floor, then the ceiling, then out the window, anywhere except at her. "Honestly? I never heard those stories. Growing up at the orphanage, I mean," he gestured vaguely with his hand.

Tracey stayed quiet.

Michael kept looking out the window. "They kinda sorta cared if you lived or died. Anything beyond that was frosting. So, when you were growing up, I went with what I knew."

"Oh."

"You're looking kinda pale there, kiddo. You should get some sleep. I'll be around."

Tracey fluffed up her pillow and laid back. "Do you still remember my favorite?"

Michael paused, halfway out the door. He turned back, and sat on the edge of the bed. "Ratfuck fed Johnny was given a job, to join up with a gang of surfing bank robbers-"

\--

ONE WEEK LATER

\--

He woke himself up with a sneeze.

"Goddamn motherfucking son of a bitch," he reached for another box of tissues, blowing his nose. In the guest bedroom, he could hear Amanda rearranging her chakras or whatever it was she did at noon. He reached for his phone, intent on texting her, when his fingers bumped into something strangely warm. Forcing his eyes open, Michael found himself staring at a box of soup from the nearby Chinese place, the good one.

The kitty spoon was happily perched on top.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this for a friend, got her permission to post it. Hope you all enjoyed.


End file.
